He understands her body language, so different from his own but that’s the attraction. Like a poorly executed piano chord stuck to a sustain pedal.
She’s an angry blinker; picks her teeth deep in thought; slouches when she’s nervous; plays with her ears as she laughs; taps her feet if she’s bored; cracks her neck when life’s too much.
At the kitchen table, slouching, tapping her feet, blinking so much he wonders if eyelids can wear out, he offers a wink as she looks away to pick her teeth.
“Whatcha thinking about?”
She cracks her neck and stands, making a sputtering noise with her lips. She opens and closes the dishwasher, the refrigerator, the stove, the microwave, and almost every upper cabinet. Finally, she sits and sighs.
He understands that sputtering lips means soon she’ll be out the door. But the sigh is new.
“I’ve never heard you do that before?”
“Sigh like that.”
“It’s a sigh. People sigh. I mean, God.” Her tone working up the registers.
“It just caught me by surprise.”
She crosses her arms. “Stop deconstructing me.”
She weaves in and out of the living, dining, and laundry rooms as if searching for something hidden.
“That bad.” He knows crossed arms mean she’s ready to pop.
“I got an apartment in the lower east side. I’ll be out two weeks from Sunday. I’m not changing my mind so don’t even try and stop me.” She sighs again, louder this time, crossing her arms even tighter. “His name’s Jim by the way, not that I owe you an explanation or that you even care.”
That’s right; she stomps up the stairs after admitting an affair.